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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989512">with me, for me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychdoktor/pseuds/psychdoktor'>psychdoktor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SMPLive, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Caring Schlatt, Comfort, Friendship, Gen, I guess? kinda?, Slice of Life, Wilbur's emotional af, but they also live and die by each other, just dudes being bros, my god a lot of soft friendship, tbh i forgot how to tag on this site it's been 2 years, they live and die by the bit, vague imagery of simple shit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:06:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>862</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989512</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychdoktor/pseuds/psychdoktor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just ten minutes before, Wilbur found himself subconsciously clicking that "call" button under Schlatt's name, eyes blurred with hot tears.<br/>"The fuck you want, Wilbur?"</p>
<p>And then Schlatt became a little nicer after hearing the other man's sniffles.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jschlatt &amp; Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s), don't ship irl people or perish by my blade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>181</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>with me, for me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   He’s aimless, fingertips grazing against familiar strings lazily and mind numbed and absent.</p>
<p>   So much practice clouds your head, so much repetition steals your attention. Where has all the time gone, how has he forgotten he’s not alone? The world is depressing and his thoughts are heavier, and he’s all alone amidst everyone’s distance. He can only hold on to voices on a call.</p>
<p>   He feels weighted, like a shackle on his ankle, his skin red and raw from just-a-bit-too-tight and if-only-I-could-rise, from this chair and from this life. Because really, everything is a trap, and now, he laments his subconscious problems through his all-too passionate strums.</p>
<p>   Because now, he wants to <em>be</em> something, something more than what his humor defines him. He wants everyone to hear him, and certainly HEAR him more than anything else, feel him in their hearts, home him in their brain. He’s filled with so much inspiration and drive, he’s living his best life.</p>
<p>   So he finishes up his last few notes, lets his mind fall back to reality, just enough to hear the clapping from miles across the world. Choppy, grainy, across poor connection and high-quality mics.</p>
<p>   It makes him smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>   “Thank you, Schlatt.” His words are low and soft, his eyes weak as he watches the other man’s icon light up in a green border with his voice.</p>
<p>   “Yeah, yeah, not bad!” the familiar, honey-romantic-rich voice says, “Gotta love it, Wilbur. You feelin’ any better yet?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>   Wilbur almost forgot he was upset, called the only online guy in his contacts to perform and get out his frustrations. But he still felt unfulfilled, and although Schlatt was making efforts at 5 a.m. for Wilbur, he wanted to feel up those strings more and more. To self-indulge in the euphoria of Schlatt’s little praises, despite how little they’d mean to him anytime else. But he was sensitive now, he needed someone there, and what better friend than someone who cusses you out <em>any other time, </em>but now… genuinely comforts you. Beyond the camera they were still friends, good good friends, filled with care among the bits and jabs at one another. Behind the mask of a tax-evading homophobic-homosexual goat, was a friend, who was there, and that’s something to be thankful for.</p>
<p>   So instead of responding to Schlatt’s inquiry, he adjusts himself in his seat, and gets to work on his smooth wood guitar once more. Melodies in the works for an album he was far too excited for, but more passionate than ever before. Less professionalism now, and only pure feeling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>   He opens his mouth, shuts his dry eyes, and despite the warmth still on his cheeks from pained emotion, he sings hoarsely and honestly. His performance is raw, his breath is hard and heavy, his voice cracks like his heart, and the last remains of a distraught panic floods from his throat. Everything pours from his tongue in the form of his voice and into the microphone, all his energy and all his effort, certainly all that is true and heartfelt.</p>
<p>   And though they can’t see one another, they’re both in contentedly shut eyes; a man with his voice dripping in life story, and a man who soaks it in earnestly for the first time.</p>
<p>   Because they’re comfortable, and they’re happy, and despite anything and everything, there’s a moment of peace in both their lives. Amongst personal stresses and the stresses of the world, raining down like fires from Heaven. There’s a moment of peace, oh, how sweet the feeling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>   Light pours through Wilbur’s room, his surroundings are illuminated with hope. Light pours from his ribs and out from his heart, he cleanses himself through his venting and lamenting. And darkness creeps through Schlatt’s own, but it’s peaceful, and he rests easy, as the voice of Wilbur tempts his body into a gentle slumber.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>   So Wilbur comes to a close with his final song, his heart free and fluttering, and he feels whole again. He’s met with silence, and at first he’s scared and offended, but after a bit of impolite delay, Schlatt’s praise comes again in an apologetically hasty fashion.</p>
<p>   “S-Sorry, you kinda put me to sleep,” Schlatt admits, voice quite clearly groggy, and he masks his honesty with a low nervous chuckle. He’s so confident, but he cowers at the thought of vulnerability, so his voice cracks and his huffs are weak.</p>
<p>   It makes Wilbur smile again, a genuine soft grin.</p>
<p>   “Go to bed, idiot,” he responds, his voice filled with humor. He knows Schlatt will respond with something hot-headed, he knows he’s tempting a hungry beast, and his assumptions were correct.</p>
<p>   “<em>You’re </em>the one who’s keeping me up on this call, Wilbur, you dumbass!” Schlatt retorts, his feigned anger tipped at the seams with contained laughter. Wilbur cracks up too, replies with a “Fine, goodnight then, you insensitive prick!” and ends their call. Types into the chat ‘rest easy, goodnight schlatt’ and breaks into a fit again when the only response is ‘fuck you’. (And, of course, they type their genuine goodnights afterward, because not everything is about the bit.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>   But Wilbur’s happier now, he wouldn’t have it any other way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is shorter than a lot of my other works, but eh, i couldn't sleep last night. i was up at 2 am typing this lil puppy on my phone out of sheer emotional exhaustion.<br/>too much shipping of these boys, not enough of them just being soft friends. enjoy?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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